Chapter 4 - The Fingerprints of Command
The interior of Nico’s townhome smelled faintly of coffee and floor wax. The local police had finished dusting for prints and left, leaving Vance and Barrett to secure the perimeter while Nico and I stood in his small, sparsely decorated living room.
"Sit down, Nico," I said, pointing toward the couch.
"I'm not sitting down, Elena. Someone just tried to frame me for espionage in my own living room," he snapped, pacing the length of the rug. "And based on the fact that they used Air Force encryption, this ties directly back to whatever shadow games you were playing after Sangin."
He was right, and that realization hurt more than his anger.
I walked over to the kitchen counter where Vance had left the plastic evidence bag containing the encrypted USB drive. I picked it up, feeling the cold weight of the plastic. The serial number printed on the reverse side wasn't standard infantry issue. It belonged to an inventory lot assigned to the Air Force Office of Special Investigations (AFOSI) regional detachment out of Langley.
"This drive," I said, holding it up so Nico could see the serial prefix, "doesn't belong to a random burglar. It belongs to an internal audit unit."
Nico stopped pacing. "An audit unit? You mean military internal affairs?"
"Something much more specific," I said, my mind racing back through my final months in uniform. "When an operation goes sideways—when a call sign like Sticky Six has to make split-second decisions that result in collateral damage or classified discrepancies—the command doesn't just close the book. They file it away under a permanent review seal. Anyone who asks too many questions about what really happened in the Helmand River valley gets put on a watch list."
Barrett stepped into the kitchen from the hallway, his face expressionless. "And if someone wanted to dig that file up, but the official channels were locked down by high-level classification... they'd need leverage."
"Leverage against who?" Nico asked, his voice tightening.
"Against the officer who flew the mission," Barrett said, looking directly at me. "Or against her family."
The room went deathly still. The pieces began to lock together with terrifying precision. My sudden promotion review last year, the unexpected inquiries from my old commanding officer in Georgia about my family ties, the timing of Nico’s recent promotion to Gunnery Sergeant—none of it was a coincidence.
Someone wasn't just trying to unearth my past; they were using Nico's career as a pressure point to force me out of retirement and back into a game I thought I had survived.
"They didn't break in here to plant evidence against Nico," I realized aloud, the cold truth dawning on me. "They broke in to let me know they could destroy him whenever they chose to."
Nico stared at me, his anger evaporating, replaced by a chilling realization. "So all this time—every time you tried to keep your distance, every time you acted like you were just an ordinary desk officer—you weren't just protecting me from your memories."
"I was keeping a target off your back," I said softly. "And I failed."
Before Nico could answer, my cell phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
I looked down at the screen. The caller ID displayed a restricted number with an Atlanta area code—the exact prefix of the AFOSI regional headquarters where my former commanding officer, Colonel Thomas Vance (no relation to Marcus), still sat.
May you like
I picked up the phone, swiped to answer, and pressed it to my ear.
"Major Romano," a smooth, familiar voice said on the other end of the line. "It's been a long time. I trust you enjoyed your brother's promotion party? It would be a shame if it turned out to be his last."
